New Roads and Secret Gates
by Citrine
Summary: Another collection of LotR drabbles and ficlets. New: A Dream of Peace. Night in Ithilien, Pippin suffers a little PTSD, and he and Gandalf have a few words...
1. River and Willow

1. **River and Willow**

Smeagol and young Deagol are Granny's favored grandchildren, treasures given to her by the Powers as a comfort in her old age. Deagol is simple and open-hearted, always bringing her fishes or eggses, quick to fetch her walking stick or her shawl. And Smeagol is quick-minded and clever, if perhaps more secretive and less kind, but always ready to make her laugh with a jest or a riddle.

But now Smeagol sits stiffly at her side, his head down. The Burrow is in an uproar and Deagol is missing, has been missing all day, and night is coming on. They are never apart, these two, never. The searchers come and go, returning each time with empty hands, and each time Smeagol half-rises to his feet, his face white and fearful. Sick with worry over his cousin, he is, her poor lamb. Granny has lived a long, long time for one of her little folk, she knows well how easy it is to lose love, how easily it can turn to bitter grief that cuts you deep, like a damp knife twisting in your hand.

"I hears them whisperin," Smeagol says after they have sat a long time in silence. His head is on her knee, his voice is low and quiet, and his right hand toys with a loose thread on her gown. His left hand is curled into a tight fist against the dirt floor. "The other folk, whisperin about me. They say-"

She feels a spark of anger inside: Cruel gossips, they are, idle talkers what can't leave a grieving lad alone. "What?"

"They say I did somethin." Smeagol keeps his pale eyes fixed on the thread, pulling it out and letting it fall back. His face grows hard and his fingers tighten on the thread until it snaps. "But I did naught wrong, naught."

He hides his face in her lap and cries himself out. Granny cries in sympathy, petting the long hair away from Smeagol's ear, and frowns. His skin is fair where it isn't touched by the sun or grimed with dirt, and a long scratch runs down his neck and disappears under his collar. In the low light of the hearth it seems to glow, like the finest red calligraphy, and on the nape of his neck there bloom faint circles of palest blue and violet.

_Fingerprints. _No. No, he had fallen into some brambles or somewhat, that was all.But Granny sits quiet then, not even rising up to throw another log on the fire. She sits and tries not to think, but her thoughts run here and there like frightened mice, circling closer, then drawing away from a dreadful shadow beyond her understanding, a shape of something terrible she cannot let herself see. _Where is poor Deagol now, their sweet-natured lad with his trusting heart?_

The cool of the river creeps in with the arrival of sunset, bringing with it the scent of the mud and the green reeds, and her lad smells of them, too, of damp clay and willow. Smeagol whimpers as her old hand pets his brown curls, a pitiful sound that makes her heart ache, but his tear-streaked face is as peaceful as a babe's, and in his sleep he smiles.

the end

(of this, but more to come...)


	2. Stone

2. **Stone**

Gandalf, it is good to see you again! How was your journey? Good, good. Here is my stool, do sit down in the shade, I will not need to sit while I work. Hand me that tool there, will you. Many thanks. It looks rather a fine bed, don't you think? A bit cold and hard for anyone else, but a kingly resting place for a Dwarf. The runes are in the old style, but my fellow-Dwarves would look askance at me for the flowering vine I have carved here all along the edge, I think. A bit too Elvish, perhaps. Yes, the carving is coming along very well, though it is slow. Once I could have chipped and moulded, whittled and carved all the day, but now my hands grow tired too soon.

Weariness grows in me, Gandalf, though I am loathe to admit it. My people are made of the very bones of the earth, but even stone is worn away by time. Only the earth itself is eternal...and Elves. There's where the rub lies, aye, that foolish Elf who has been my brother, my friend, my companion in battle and jest, what will he do with himself without old Gimli? If not for him, I would never have left Middle earth to come to this strange place of endless springtime. If not for him I would have grown old in the Halls under the Lonely Mountain, and laid myself down to sleep long, long ago. But then again, if not for him, I might never have looked again upon the loveliness of the Lady of the Galadhrim, or heard the song of her voice, or been blessed beyond all deserving by the light of her smile. It was a fair trade, aye, fair indeed, and I have got the better part of the bargain. For I may still find peace and sleep and forgetfulness in these Undying Lands, while he must go on with nothing to hold but memory.

But enough of that, I must look to my work. Ah, see where I have gone wrong with my chisel while wool-gathering. The Dark Tower will seem a bit short, but ah well. Look here, I am almost finished with this part, and have not done so bad, although I am not as skilled with carving figures as some of my folk: See, here is my Lord Aragorn before the Black Gate, and you are there, Gandalf, with Pippin-how it grieved him that Merry was not at his side!-and of course, there I am, behind that foolish young Elf. You'll pardon me if I have carved myself standing, axe in hand, rather than astride the horse. Never could abide the poor nervous beasts, and a Dwarf is allowed to indulge himself a bit when he is carving this sort of thing. If I did so, a more accurate rendering would be myself clinging to the Elf for dear life, or else prostrate on the ground-yes, yes, laugh if wish, I do not mind-but the tale of my life will remain here for an age in stone, and that is not how I wish to be remembered.

It is good to be remembered well. Nothing truly perishes until it is forgotten, and it does comfort me that we mortals who fought in the Great War of the Ring will live eternally, in a way, in the memories of Elves...and you. It especially pleases me that the works and deeds of those little hobbits will live on, brave Frodo and his faithful Samwise, old Bilbo, and Merry, and young Pippin. A fine, fine folk, those little, laughing people, and I think of all the places and peoples of Middle earth, I miss them most of all. Strange how I can yet see their faces, and the green hills of their little country, sharply in my mind's eye, while the images of even my own land and kin soften with the passing years, like a picture written in the dust. Is it that way with you as well, immortal though you are? I thought so. One can leave the Shire, but it never entirely leaves _us_, and that is not a bad thing, no, not at all. It is a kindly memory that warms our old bones.

Fine stone, this, a lovely colour and easily worked, and it warms quickly under my hand. It goes well with the stones of the three hobbits there, and it will weather well, I think. The Elves, and one Elf in particular, will wish to bury it in violets and sweet herbs and twining vines, but do not let him go too far, I beg you. Good stonework should not be hidden.

You will look after him, Gandalf, won't you? Legolas, I mean. My long friendship with him has changed me, made me apt to see the beauty of things that live and grow, to wonder at the loveliness of stars and not merely wish that I could pluck their brightness from the heavens for myself alone. And I think that he is changed now in his turn by our long acquaintance, more apt to see the worth of small things that are unlovely to look upon, more inclined to mourn them bitterly and ache with regret when they pass away. Do you see what I am saying? I think it may be difficult for him, when I am gone. Even in this land of light and bliss, it is a hard thing to be left behind, and to know that he cannot follow. And I wouldn't wish for him to do so, even if he could. Ai! Ai, what a foolish old fellow I have become in my old age! Thank you, I know that you will. Hand me that cloth, my eyes water from the dust. Bless you. Bless you, my friend.

But I have rambled too long. An old Dwarf's wagging tongue grows as long as his white beard, it seems. I will lay myself down to rest ere long, but I am not weary enough to wish to meet my Fathers today: The stone will wait. Gandalf, old friend, help me rise, I have grown stiff in the back from bending so low. Let us go find bread and meat, and something to quench our thirst. Let us bestir Legolas from his dreaming or singing, or whatever Elvish thing he is about, and invite him to join us at our meal. We'll fill our pipes and remember old times together, and drive the Elf mad with the smoke. Hah! Come, the road rises and it is a long walk for my old legs, give me your arm and I will lean upon you until we reach the sea. Khazad ai-menu! Hah!

the end

(of this, but more to come...)

A/N: It seems rather obvious to me, but in case I've been too vague here, Gimli is carving the finishing touches on his own tomb.


	3. On Ravenhill

3. **On Ravenhill**

Five armies clashed here in the shadow of the mountain, and Men and horses, Elves, Dwarves, Goblins, Wargs, mingle together in death. Carrion birds cry overhead. My father Thranduil was right: There is no glory in war, and victory is dearly bought. I do not think I will find Mithrandir's small friend alive in this ruin. How could such a little fellow survive when so many great warriors did not?

And yet I hear someone calling as I turn the dead. I rise up, shading my eyes against the setting sun. "What voice is it that speaks among the stones?"

tbc...

A/N: The last line is a clean lift from The Hobbit_. Yes, I know it was a man that found Bilbo after the battle, not Legolas. But surely the son of Thranduil had to be at the Battle of Five Armies_ somewhere, _if only to hold his father's standard, so why not here?_ _Thus this teeny little bending of canon._


	4. A Moment of Desperation

4. A Moment of Desperation

O why did we fly off like mad things while looking for Frodo? I feel you at my back as I chop at the grasping hands of these dreadful Orcs. I dare not turn my head to see you, but I feel you gasp in fright, hear you draw breath to cry _Boromir!_ _Boromir! _But he has fallen, pierced through with arrows, there is no more safety there.

Parry. Swing. A thrust of my sword that grates on bone, a spray of hot, blackb lood across my face.

(Boromir, you taught me well, if only I had not been too small to save you!)

My fault, my fault that you are here, Pippin. Why didn't I leave you behind in safety in Rivendell? Why didn't I make you go home? I would beg your forgiveness if I had breath to speak.

There are so many! Why haven't they hacked us to pieces? I think…Oh, Pippin! I think they mean to carry us off, not to kill us, but I'll perish here with Boromir if it means you might escape.

A crushing blow makes my head ring, you scream as the ground rushes up to meet me. _Run, Pippin! _Please. Please…

the end

(of this double-drabble, but more to come...)


	5. Three Hobbits and a Little Spellcheck

5. **Three Hobbits and a Little Spellcheck**

"Let's go as fast as we can," said Frodo. "They call this the Spellcheck Wood, you know."

"I wouldn't want to linger here," Samwise agreed. "Folks say it does fearful things to a hobbit."

"Really?" Pippin said, ever the curious young Took. "I've never been in this part of the Wood before. What fearful things?"

"Changes a hobbit somehow, or so I hear, makes 'em talk all addled," Sam said with a shudder. "And I don't reckon I want to find out what else."

"Let's get on, then," Merry urged. "I'm ready for supper."

"Ooh, seedcake," Pippin said, smacking his lips. "And perhaps some mushrooms. Are there mushrooms in this Spellcheck Wood?"

"If there were, I wouldn't dare eat them," Fro do said. He stopped so suddenly that Sam wise ran into his back, and Pippin trod on Mary's heels. "What an odd sensation…"

"What is it, Mister Fro do?" Sam wise said. "You look all strange all of a sudden."

Fro do laughed nervously. "I feel a bit funny, to tell the truth." He turned to Mary. "I feel a bit silly for asking, but Mary, do I seem…different, to you?"

"Not that I can tell," Mary said, peering at him in the dim light under the trees. Then he straightened up, looking anxious. "But I'm feeling a bit strange myself. Have _I _changed any? Pippin, are you all right? You've gone white."

Pippin was gazing at Mary with something close to horror. Before his eyes Mary's hair had grown into a shining, curly-brown mass down to his shoulders, his familiar, sturdy form had seemed to shrink, and he was looking distinctly and disturbingly pretty. "You…your…"

Fro do turned to Sam wise with a pleading look. "Sam, quickly, say something! Anything!"

"Master Bulb, Vandal, Rive dell," Sam wise recited, with growing fright. "Fro do, Mary, Took land, Bowater, Hobbit on, Gagmen-Oh save us! It's all addled!" Sam gasped. "Nothing comes out right, Mister Fro do! What's happening to us?"

"It's the Spell check!" Mary said. "What shall we do, Fro do?"

He looked quite pale and frightened. Pippin's young mind was reeling, and in a sweetly confused sort of way he wondered, in light of his cousin's sudden and boggling change of gender, if it was his duty as a Took and a gentlehobbit to comfort…er, her, somehow. What did one usually do to soothe a lass? He took up Mary's hand and gave it a feeble sort of pat. "There, there," he said faintly.

Mary growled and wrenched it away, and he would have gone after Pippin with his fingernails had not Fro do held him back. "Scratch his eyes out later! Let's make a run for it now, quick!"

Filled with fright they began to run, slapping branches aside and leaping over deadfalls like deer, but as fast as they went Spell check continued to pursue them. Pippin held tight to Mary's arm. Mary was muttering as they ran, and his voice was developing a lovely and sweetly terrible girlish lilt. At any moment Pippin knew he might feel an 'E' affix itself to his given name 'Peregrin', and he, too, would suffer the terrible fate of becoming a hobbit-lass through Spell check. _You shan't have him Spell check! _Pippin thought grimly. _Neither him nor me!_

Fro do held to Sam's arm just as tightly, though he feared it might be too late for them both. He shuddered to think of their fate if they did not escape. Sam wise might have a chance, but what on earth _was_ a Fro do, anyway?

They were near the edge of the wood now, and the blessed sunlight of a world filled with colloquialisms, anachronistic spellings, and unrecognised place-names was shining on the path. "Uncle Bubo, Eldon, Minas Toroth!" Fro do cried desperately, putting on a burst of speed. "Now lads, jump for it!"

They leaped forward as one and landed in a heap in the green grass. Frodo stood up at once and began to brush himself off. "Hobbiton! Samwise! Bilbo! Sam, speak!"

"Master Frodo!" Sam cried in delight. "Mister Merry! Mister Pippin! Well, I'm sure relieved, and no mistake."

"Not half as relieved as I am," Merry said dryly, patting himself all over.

"That was a narrow escape," Pippin said, wiping sweat off his brow. He was fervently glad to have dodged the terrible 'E', and he certainly didn't need another Brandybuck girl-cousin, thank you very much.

_You have no idea,_ Merry thought, and shivered. The word _betrothal_ loomed large in his mind: Pippin's mother would've laid hands on the newly-eligible Brandybuck lass faster than a hobbit could put 'Tookland Wedding' in single quotations.

"Come on, lads," Frodo said. "The sooner we put Spellcheck behind us, the better."

They began to move off at a quick walk, with many a nervous look over their shoulders.

"What a strange place!" Merry muttered after a time. "I wonder that there aren't warning signs posted."

"I wonder who put Spellcheck there, and why?" Pippin said. "I can't see much good in it being there."

"Well, may be there's _some_ good use in that Spellcheck, Mister Pippin," Sam said. "If a body is careful."

the end

(of this, but more ficlets to come.)


	6. The Archer's Homecoming

**6. The Archer's Homecoming**

_For the veterans of all wars, in remembrance of unsung heroes, brave and true._

Pippin thought that Merry's toy soldiers must be the finest in the Shire. They had been a special present from Frodo years before, and ordered by Cousin Bilbo all the way from the Dwarf Halls of the Lonely Mountain. There were metal swordsmen, and horsemen, and even small, stalwart heralds marching into battle with their lord's standards held high, but his very favorites were the archers. They were a bit smaller than all the others, and Pippin liked to pretend that they were actually hobbits called to service by the king.

"That's just silly," Merry laughed. "Hobbits haven't gone into battle for ages and ages. We have more sense now, I should hope, and besides, look, some of the archers have _beards_." He was fourteen, and didn't play with his soldiers so much now, unless his little cousin came to visit. Pippin liked it best on days like this one, when rain was pattering against the windows and ran down the chimney to sputter and hiss on the hearth, and rain-shadows crawled across the lumpy battlefield of Merry's bed.

"Maybe those are Dwarves," Pippin said.

Merry thought an army of Men with a mixed score of Dwarf-and-hobbit-archers was about as likely as an army of Elves and Dwarves with a score of Goblin-archers mounted on North-farthing ponies, but he had to admit that some of the archers were rather squatty and grim in appearance, and Cousin Bilbo _had_ gone off with a great lot of Dwarves on an adventure once, long, long ago, and had fought alongside Men and Elves, too, so it wasn't entirely impossible.

"Very well," Merry conceded. "What shall we play now? Norbury-of-the-Kings?"

This was Pippin's favorite battle to stage, since hobbits had played an important, if only dimly remembered, part in it. He and Merry always made sure to bring all the brave hobbit-archers home again safe and sound, with a lovely big feast and lots of fireworks afterward. "All right," he said cheerfully. "Where will you set up camp?"

"Right here by the pillow-ah, I mean, the big hill ought to do," Merry said. "You should set up by the bedpost, I mean, the trees."

Pippin began to gather his troop, but the quilt dropped off sharply at the end of the bed and four or five unfortunate members of his company kept falling into the ravine. "Stand up, you," Pippin growled. He collected his clumsy warriors and dropped them in a heap on top of their fellow-soldiers. However did they expect to defeat the Witch-King if they couldn't even stand upright? "Ooh, Merry, look at this one! He looks different from the rest."

Merry peered at the soldier in Pippin's outstretched hand. It _was _different. The little archer was beardless, but some flaw in the casting had given him a drawn and sorrowful look. His small back was bent, his bow was slung over his shoulder rather than held at the ready, and his right hand lay on the hilt of the tiny sword sheathed in the belt at his waist. He leaned forward on the flat piece of metal earth where he was planted, with one foot extended, and looked as though he was taking the first step of a long journey he didn't much care for. "Oh, him," Merry said. "I usually just leave him in the box. Do you want him?"

Pippin nodded, and sat with his head bowed, the archer held in his cupped hands. "He looks sad, Merry."

"I imagine he is," Merry said. "I'm sure he would rather be warm and safe and sitting down to a good meal than going off to war." Merry's stomach growled and he glanced at the clock. "Come along, Pip, are we going to make them fight or not?"

"No," Pippin said. "He doesn't want to fight anymore. I think he's cold and frightened. And lost."

Pippin's mouth trembled, and if Merry had been a different sort of older cousin he might have laughed at this sudden rush of tender feeling toward a scrap of painted iron. "There, there, Pip, it's all right. He's not lost or sad, just tired because he's been walking a long way." He took Pippin's hand and they slid off the bed together. "See, we'll put him here on the night-table and pretend he's already got home from Norbury. Just a few miles more and he'll be there at his own smial, and the kettle will be singing and his place made ready at the table, and everyone he cares about will be waiting. His name is...ah..." Merry scratched his head. "What's his name, Pip?"

Pippin frowned, then smiled. "Persifal. Where are his friends?"

Merry turned back to the bed and scooped a handful of the archers. "Right here."

Pippin took them one by one and stood them on the table close together, then pushed the shortest one a bit closer to Persifal, so they were touching. "This is Andy," he murmured. "His best good friend."

Merry put his hand on Pippin's shoulder, and Pippin put his arm around Merry's waist, and they were quiet. Pippin looked up. "Are you going to be a soldier someday, Merry?"

Merry laughed. "Great heavens, no! What a notion! Respectable hobbits don't do that sort of thing anymore, and besides, who would be left to tickle you then?"

He gave Pippin a gentle jab in the ribs that made him squeak. "Aha, stop! I'd go with you, Merry, and become a soldier, too, and look after you."

Merry rubbed his knuckles on Pippin's head. "I know you would. But we needn't worry about that. Let's go see if luncheon is ready, shall we?"

They put the scattered horsemen, heralds, and swordsmen back in the box, but left the little archers where they stood. "They're home now, " Merry said before he and Pippin left the room. "They needn't ever fight anymore. They were very brave and true, and did great things for the Shire, and their task is done. Now they can rest."

"Good," Pippin said, feeling very pleased. From the doorway the painted faces looked more cheerful, and he could almost hear the tread of hobbit feet on soft, Shire earth, and joyful hobbit voices raised in a song to welcome them home.

the end

(of this ficlet, but more to come...)

_A/N: This story references a previous story of mine, A Path With No Returning. Reading it would give this more depth, but hopefully it's not neccessary to have read that one to understand this one. _


	7. Golden Slumbers

**7. Golden Slumbers**

**Golden Slumbers written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney**, both of them finer writers than I will ever be. No doubt I'm violating umpteen different kinds of copyrights (and tempting the wrath of the FanFicdotNet gods) by quoting the lyrics here, but hey, I won't tell Paul McCartney if you won't.

Once there was a way to get back homeward  
Once there was a way to get back home  
Sleep pretty darling do not cry  
And I will sing a lullabye

Golden slumbers fill your eyes  
Smiles awake you when you rise  
Sleep pretty darling do not cry  
And I will sing a lullabye

"What did Uncle Frodo look like, Dad?" Little Elanor asked once. It was a rainy evening in spring, and she and her father were sitting before the fire. Her mother was abed, sound asleep with the new babe in the crook of her arm, and Frodo-lad was asleep, too, in his own little trundle bed. Sam held an apple, peeling it slowly so the skin would come off all of-a-piece. Elanor sat on a stool at his feet, enjoying the warm firelight and the secret enjoyment of having her Dad all to herself.

Sam's hand paused. "Well now. He weren't just like any other hobbit, I can tell you. Taller than most, and darker than some, with fine hands. He looked more Took than Baggins, though he wasn't so fair-skinned, and he was more Elf-like than any hobbit I ever saw, and I reckon he got that from the Tooks, too. But it was what was inside him what was different, something like a...like a light I could see if I looked at him just so, so lovely it hurt your heart." Sam sighed deeply and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes. Pure foolishness it was to weep, after all this time, after all these years. He put the apple aside and patted his knee.

"Here, Elanorelle, come get off the floor before you catch a chill."

Elanor crawled up beside him and he put his arm around her. Her Uncle Frodo had gone away a long time ago, and it had made her Daddy very sad, and even now sometimes he would have to go for a walk, and when he came back his eyes were red. Mum said that she should hug Dad extra tight when that happened, so she did. "He was a great hero, wasn't he, Dad?"

"Oh yes," Sam said. "Though he never thought so. Bravest, wisest, kindest and best, that was your Uncle Frodo, the finest hobbit I ever knew. A hobbit couldn't never have asked for a better master, and I was blessed that he called me his friend." Sam looked down at Elanor. "Do you remember him at all, love?"

Elanor wished she could say yes, but all she had were dim flashes of a kind touch, or a certain scent, like pipeweed and old books, the sound of a low voice singing over her cradle in the dark. "Did he sing?"

"Why yes, he did," Sam said. "I used to hear him sometimes, some song he learned from the Elves I reckon, but he never sang it to anyone but you. Would you like to hear it now?" Elanor nodded. "Close your eyes then, and I'll sing it." Sam pressed Elanor's bright head against his shoulder so she couldn't see his tears. "Golden slumbers fill your eyes..."

the end

(of this, but of course more ficlets to come.)

A/N: Written for the Toilanddrouble Beatles Challenge, where the challenge was to write a double-drabble and end it with a Beatles lyric. This is my drouble expanded to a ficlet, the original is at Toilanddrouble. I encourage interested readers to head on over there and check out the ongoing challenges, and all the old challenge entries are still available to read.


	8. To Merry, On His Birthday

8. **To Merry, On His Birthday**

Step by step, the old hobbit had climbed to the windswept garden with his basket. Kind citizens of Minas Tirith had asked where he was bound and offered their service, but he had smiled and waved them off. Now, after his bread and cheese, and a cup of wine, he felt ready for what he had come to do.

Pippin pulled a folded paper from his pocket. He'd wakened from a dream of Merry that morning, and longing for his cousin, the touch of his hand or the sound of his voice, had given him an ache in his heart.

_My Merry,_

_Happy birthday, cousin. I know you're feasting and drinking to your heart's content, there in the Land of Always-Summer. It's lonely without you, but I get by, and everyone is very kind. Give my love to Frodo and Sam. Tell them I'm thinking of them, and you, dear Merry, always. _

Pippin kissed the letter and lifted his hands, and a gust of wind whirled it up and away into the sky. Higher and higher he watched it, following it with his eyes until the sunlight made him blink, and it was gone.

"I miss you so," Pippin said.

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

_Written for the Toilanddrouble **Letters** challenge on the Toilanddrouble Live Journal Community, where the challenge was to write 200 words of Tolkien-related fanfiction containing or consisting of a letter. _


	9. On the Way Home

9. **On the Way Home**

_Merry and Sam have a conversation after seeing Frodo off... maybe a day or two after Frodo leaves from the Grey Havens. What do they talk about? Does Sam feel badly that Merry knew Frodo was leaving before he did? Would both of them feel sorrow? How would they help each other deal with the loss? _

The three travelers, bereft of the one they all loved best, camped on the downs, knowing that the next sunset would see them home again. The weather had turned as it does sometimes in Autumn, not to rain and wind, but instead to a crisp winter-chill that showed their breath, and at night the sky was clear and dark, filled with sharp, white stars.

They had had little to say since they had left the Havens, and the grief of parting lay heavy on their hearts. With a very-unhobbit-like lack of idle talk they set about their tasks that evening. Merry tended to the ponies and staked them out, and Pippin brought two or three armloads of dead branches from under one lone old tree for a fire. Sam got out some pots and pans for their supper, and a small kettle to heat water for tea.

They had a good meal then, sitting on their bedrolls under the stars, though when they thought of all that had been left behind, the bread and bacon seemed to stick in their throats. They had pipeweed to spare, but none of them wanted a pipe, so after a last cup of tea Pippin tossed the dregs of his cup into the long grass, then said goodnight, wrapped himself in his blanket and turned his back to the fire. Soon they heard his breathing even out, and they knew he was asleep.

"I'm glad he can sleep," Sam said. "Poor old lad."

_Poor old us_, Merry thought. "He always has slept deepest when he's sad or troubled, I think it's a refuge for him." He tossed another branch on the fire, and the red sparks whirled up. He pointed up at the stars. "Look there, Sam, there's the Hunter."

"Aye," Sam said. "With his bow, and his dog at his heel. Do you...do you think the stars are the same, where Master Frodo is going?"

"I don't know. I hope so," Merry said, and his throat felt tight. It would ease his heart to think that at least he and Frodo were still under the same sky. He sighed. "You know, Sam, I envy you."

Sam was as staggered as if Merry had announced a decision to grow wings and fly. "What, _me_?"

"Yes, _you_, Samwise." Merry couldn't help but smile a little at Sam's befuddled expression. "You will see Frodo again, Sam. You'll touch his hand and hear his voice. Pippin and I, we never shall, never again in this world."

Sam's kind heart ached and tears came to his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Merry. I wish it could be different. If anyone deserves to follow Master Frodo to the Elves' country, it's you and Mr. Pippin, after the great deeds you've done."

Merry laughed with tears in his eyes. "Yours were greater, Sam. You followed Frodo to the very edge of doom, you would have gladly laid down your life for him-you nearly did lay down your life for him. That was more than I managed to do."

Sam came around the fire and sat down beside Merry, and very hesitantly, he put his arm around him. For years young Pippin had been merely the son of a prosperous farmer, easy to love because he was such a laughing, good-hearted lad, and Sam didn't fear to ruffle his curly head, or give him a gentle scolding when he got into mischief. Master Frodo, well, he hadn't been like other folk, he cared for a hobbit's thoughts and his doings, not the place in life he was born in. But Merry had been the only son of the Master of Buckland, heir to a very high place indeed, and Sam's Gaffer had never let him forget it. There had always been a sort of awkwardness between them. But now there was the feel of an old wall, built of birth and circumstances, crumbling down under the weight of their shared sorrow, and it would never be so high again. They had both been blessed enough to know and love Frodo, and now they had lost him, Merry for all time.

"You were right where you were meant to be, Mr. Merry. Master Frodo wouldn't never have wanted you to come with him to that dreadful place, it would've broke his heart to see you and Mr. Pippin suffer so. He wouldn't never even have took me, except that I near drownded myself and he had to haul me into the boat like a trout." Sam pulled out his handkerchief-a fine linen one rather than the coarse cotton ones he used to carry, and embroidered with green leaves all along the edge by his dear Rose-and he pressed it into Merry's hand. "There now, there now, Mr. Merry. Please don't take on so."

Merry wiped his face, then twisted the cloth between his clenched hands. "I ask myself, is there something I could have done? If I had spent more time with Frodo these past months, if I had only talked to him. I turn it this way and that in my mind, and it still comes out the same." Merry took a ragged breath. "I'm sorry, Sam. I shouldn't bother you with this and make you feel wretched. It's just so hard."

"Cruel hard," Sam said, wiping his sleeve across his face. "But we can't turn back the clock, we just have to go on as Master Frodo would want us to, and try to be happy as we may. I have my Rose and the little babe, and you have Buckland, and Mr. Pippin to lean on, and you'll both have wives and children, and he'll be Thain someday-"

"And you'll be Mayor, Sam," Merry said.

"Oh now," Sam said, and even in the dim firelight Merry could see him blush. "You think so?"

"I know so," Merry laughed, this time without hurt or bitterness. "Remember what Frodo said? _All that I had or might have had I leave to you. _Home and family and friends, and the Shire to care for. He gave that to you, Sam, with his whole heart."

"Bless him," Sam said. "Dear Master Frodo! I'll never forget him, and I won't let anyone else forget him, neither. I'm not wise like him, Mr. Merry, nor so book-learned, or brave, and I can't take his place, but I'll do the best I can and be the best friend I can to you and Mr. Pippin, just as he was to me." He took hold of Merry's hand. "If you are ever in a fix, if you ever need me, just send to Hobbiton and I'll come, even if I have to run on my own two feet."

Merry was deeply moved. He knew well that Sam did not make a promise or give his friendship lightly. "Thank you, Sam."

"That tears it," came a muffled, tear-soaked voice from the other side of the fire. "If someone doesn't come over here and pet me soon, I will bawl out loud like a faunt, and then I shall get up and snivel and snot all over both your waistcoats."

"Peregrin Took!" Merry said. "Have you been awake all this time?"

"No" Pippin sniffled. "Well, long enough. My nose has fairly frozen off from keeping my back turned."

Merry and Sam both laughed at this, then got up and brought their bedrolls to where Pippin had stretched himself out. They put their blankets on either side and lay down beside him, shoulder to shoulder, taking comfort in each other's nearness, and talked until the stars dimmed and the sky began to pale. They talked of all the sweet days of their youth that were behind them, the terrors and wonders they had found out in the wide world, and the blessed days ahead. With love and longing they spoke of Frodo and other friends that had gone, and the time they had spent together, and all the great, good things that they hoped Frodo would find across the sea.

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

the end

(...of this, but more ficlets to come.)

A/N: Many, many thanks to Shirebound's Shirebunny (plotbunny) website, and to Periantari who donated the 'bunny to the hutch.

I'm a bit of an amateur stargazer, so I'm reasonably sure the constellation Orion (what the hobbits here are calling the Hunter,) is visible in September. Of course, I could also be entirely wrong. Constellations do shift positions over thousands of years of time, and whether Orion would be visible in the sky in the Shire's equivalent of September is beyond me. There's probably a reference hidden in canon somewhere, but darned if I can find it.


	10. Mumak

10. **Mumak**

_For the Toilanddrouble 'Tolkien's animals' Challenge_

She was born under a southern sun, on the plains of far Harad. Torn from her mother in infancy, she was taught under the lash to rise and kneel at the whim of small, squeaking Men she might have crushed like flies had she known her own strength. She walked among the multitudes as a queen in scarlet silk, her tusks bound with gold, and yet poorer than any under her shadow, for she was a slave of the Haradrim, themselves slaves of Sauron.

She learned to trample and kill, to carry shrieking warriors on her shoulders into battle, to bear the sting of arrows, the torture of marches without rest. The trumpet of her voice shook the woods of Ithilien, driving the Men of the West before her, and her footsteps on the Pelennor were thunder.

There she died, far from that southern sun, brought down by archers of Morthond. Of the great beasts that perished she alone was left in peace, neither burned nor cast into a pit. Her bones weathered in the green grass and spiders spun a shroud for the fallen mumak, the innocent who knew not for whom she fought, or why she fell.

> > > > > > > > > > >

_More to come..._


	11. Beyond the Sunset, O Blissful Morning

**11. Beyond the Sunset, O Blissful Morning**

The light of a summer morning lay over the garden. Frodo and Bilbo stood side by side with baskets of fresh-plucked flowers over their arms. They waded deeper into the flowers, gently plucking the bright blooms and laying them to rest in the basket, and Frodo marvelled again at how each flower, or herb, or green vine in this blessed place seemed to live and sing under his hand. He would never grow tired of that. It was almost a shame to put the lovely things in vases, but ah well. There were plenty, and to spare, and Yavanna had said the flowers truly didn't mind.

Behind them they could hear the bang and clatter of pots and pans as Sam moved to and fro in the kitchen. The good smells that drifted from the open window tickled Frodo's nose and made his stomach growl, and he absent-mindedly stuck two fingers in the pocket of his waistcoat and drew out his watch.

Bilbo saw his quick movement and chuckled. Neither he nor Frodo had needed to glance at a clock or watch for ages-they hadn't much use for time anymore-but old habits die hard. "Nearly time, then?"

Frodo chuckled, too, and put his watch away. "I think it is, thank goodness. I'm famished, and the smell of Sam's cooking is driving me mad."

Bilbo sniffed the air appreciatively. "Yes, he's certainly putting his back into it. Well, I believe we have enough of these hollyhocks. Let's go in, and perhaps Sam will take pity on us and let us have a bite or two."

They carried the baskets into the smial and set them just inside the door. Sam heard them come in and emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a cloth, his round face pink and flushed with warmth. "Is it time, Master Frodo? Bless me, but I haven't even got out the cups and plates yet."

Frodo and Bilbo smiled at each other. Dear Sam had never quite broken the habit of calling Frodo _Master_, though now it was no more than a pet-name. "Here, give me that cloth," Bilbo said, taking the cloth from Sam's hands and tossing it over his shoulder. "You and Frodo can nip down to the road and watch for them. I'll put these flowers into vases and set the table."

"Come on, Sam!" Frodo tugged on Sam's arm. He felt as excited as a child at Yule.

"But wouldn't you rather meet them first, Mr. Bilbo?" Sam said, frowning.

"I've waited this long, I can wait a bit longer," Bilbo said, patting his arm. "Go on with you now. I'll see them when they arrive, my lad."

"All right then," Sam said. "Seeing as how you don't mind. The kettle's on, and the lid's on the taters so they shouldn't dry out. And there's a plate of little sugared cakes if you'd like a nibble while we're gone."

"More than a nibble, I would imagine," Frodo grinned. "There'll be nothing but crumbs on the platter when we return."

Bilbo flapped his hands at them. "All the more reason for you to be off," Bilbo said. "So I may gorge myself without two pairs of sad, hungry eyes staring at my gluttony across a length of table. Shoo!"

Bilbo pretended to shove them out the round front door, and they made pretence of resistance, but they were laughing too merrily to put much effort into it.

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

It was a long way from the smial to the gate set in the low, stone wall, but the air was cool and clean, and it was a pleasure to walk. Puffs of dust rose under Frodo's feet, and he found himself stamping so the sweet smell of the dry earth would rise to his nose. Sam put his hands in his pockets and started to hum Old Bilbo's walking song, and he and Frodo smiled at each other. In another time or place Sam might have made small talk about the fine weather, or the herbs growing amongst the wildflowers, but they had been a long time in this far country, and they didn't seem to need so many words anymore.

After walking awhile in a pleasant silence, they came to the bench close to the gate. Before Sam came, when had still been just Frodo and Bilbo, the two of them had often come down to the gate in the twilight, but there had been no bench then. When Sam learned that Frodo and Bilbo had often merely thrown themselves down on the grass like two empty sacks, he had set right to work building it. _Taint right for gentlehobbits to have nowhere decent to sit_ Sam had said then, and set right to work building it. _I reckon a throne wouldn't be good enough for Mr Bilbo, and you, Master dear,_ (And there Sam had blushed a little, all the affection of a lifetime shining in his eyes.) _But since I don't have no gold nor jools, I hope this will serve. _And it did serve, quite well, and over time Sam had slowly carved it with leaves and flowers and climbing vines, till Frodo had declared that even the king of Gondor's throne was never such a work of art.

Frodo and Sam sat there until they saw two figures walking down toward the gate. The hobbit on the left seemed to be somewhat weary and footsore, and perhaps a little anxious, and leaned rather heavily against his companion. Frodo squeezed Sam's shoulder.

"Reckon it's them, Master Frodo?" Sam asked. Many hobbits had travelled down this road. Some they had known well and loved, and others were strangers, but every hobbit was greeted like kin, and often they stayed a good long while as smial-guests before they went over the last hill.

Frodo stood up. "Yes, I believe it is!" There was a pitch of excitement in his voice that Sam hadn't heard for...why for an age, really, not since they were all together in that other Shire on the far side of the sunrise. "There's Merry-he's wearing his Rohan livery-and that must be Pippin, but stars, he looks so dreadfully grey and weary! Come along, Sam! Let's hurry down and meet them!"

They held hands like two children and ran down the slope. Merry was already opening the gate and Frodo nearly knocked him over with the force of his embrace. "Merry! Merry! How splendid to see you again!"

Merry laughed and used his greater height to lift Frodo off his feet. "Mercy! Mercy on an old hobbit-traveller! It's good to see you, too, cousin."

Sam wrung Merry's hand and shook his arm up and down like a pump-handle. 'You're a sight for sore eyes, Mr. Merry, and that's a fact! What I mean to say is, we had a feeling you were on the way, but whatever took you so long?"

"Well, I am sorry about that," Merry said. "But Pippin wasn't quite ready, and I couldn't go on without him, you know. I had to hang back a while."

At this they all turned together and looked at Pippin, who stood trembling like a leaf. He was still very tall and straight, though time had rounded his shoulders and stolen the red-brown colour of the curls on his head and his feet, and twisted the bones of his long hands. He was dressed very finely in a black velvet coat and silver waistcoat, and he was clinging so tightly to Merry's sleeve that his knuckles were white. Merry gently patted his hand. "All right, Pippin?"

Pippin slowly stretched out his arm and touched Frodo's face with his cool fingers. Frodo quickly clasped the trembling hand tight against his cheek and warmed it with his breath, and kissed it. "Frodo, Frodo, I can't believe it," Pippin murmured. "Oh, I hope I'm not dreaming again! I had a dream once, in the White City, that I had grown so old, and Merry had left me and all I wanted to do was go home, but I couldn't find my way somehow. This is like that dream, but..." Pippin's mouth fell open, and he looked all around at the trees and blue sky as if he had never seen a tree or the sky before. "But I'm not asleep now. Where am I?"

"I've brought you home, Pip," Merry said. "Home at last, to stay."

"Home at last," Pippin repeated, and then he began to cry.

"No more tears, cousin," Frodo said, handing him a handkerchief, but at the same time he reached into his waistcoat and brought out another to mop his own face.

"I can't seem to help it," Pippin hiccupped, with his head on Merry's shoulder. "I don't know what I was expecting, but you're all here, and it's so good-" Here Pippin broke down, and they stood there in the sun, laughing and crying together, and Pippin's tears were like rain that washed away the lifetime of little sorrows and greater hurts that all mortals learn to bear as they walk upon the earth.

"Well, well, let's go on," Frodo said at last, giving his eyes a last swipe with his sleeve-his handkerchief was a wreck of sodden linen. "Bilbo is anxious to see you, and then they'll be expecting us at the Feast."

Pippin looked baffled all over again. "Bilbo? Feast? Great heavens, will I have to make some sort of speech?"

"Only a little one," Merry laughed. "You can take a hobbit out of the Shire, but one can never take the Shire out of the hobbit, and everyone will expect a bit of news and gossip from Over There."

"I shall do my best then," Pippin said, wiping his eyes. "How wonderful it will be to see everyone again after so long!"

"My dear 'Stell," Merry said softly, and touched Pippin's hand again. "And your Diamond, Pip. They're waiting for us."

"Diamond," Pippin sighed, but this time he smiled.

"And my Rose," Sam said. "And won't she scold me if I'm late!" But he laughed as he said it; so foolish it was to worry about _early_ or _late_ in this timeless place.

Pippin looked at them all with such love and happiness in his heart that he thought it would burst. He felt like laughing and singing all at once. He felt light as a feather. He felt like the young hobbit-lad he had been so long, long ago, sitting on his pack on Frodo's doorstep, with the whole, wide world ahead of him and a great adventure about to begin. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

They said no more then, but joined hands and began to walk together in the soft twilight, down the Last Road that led to the bright lights and laughter of the great Feast just over the hill, in the valley where the merriment went on forever, and summer lasted for always.

The end

_( of this, but more to come...)_


	12. Lost and Found

_A/N: The lullaby used here is Suo Gan. (The midi file and lyrics are at Contemplatordotcom, the link to which can be found on my Bio page.)_ **To the best of my knowledge, this song is public domain**_, and therefore free to be used by humble fanfic writers such as myself._

**12. Lost and Found**

Sometime in the night, Frodo felt cold. Rain was falling gently on Hobbiton, cooling the air, and he had fallen asleep with Merry snugged up against his back. Now the blankets were thrown aside and Merry was gone. Frodo sat up and rubbed his eyes, then eased his legs over the side of the bed. Well, Pippin had given them all quite a fright today, and he couldn't blame Merry if he couldn't sleep. It had a been a long day of visiting with Eglantine Took and her children, and during the afternoon nap Pippin had decided to crawl out of his bed and go exploring. It had taken them hours to track him down again, and Bag End had been in an uproar. Who knew that a tiny Took, barely old enough to be on his feet, would be able to go so far and hide himself so well? He had been found at last by, of all hobbits, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who had been stunned to discover that she had been minding the Heir of the Tookland all day. She had taken quite a shine to the little rascal, too, if he hadn't mistook that look in her eye. Frodo laughed a little, and rubbed his tired face with his hand. He would have to keep an eye on her the next time she came around the little fellow, (he told himself only half in jest,) else she might just tuck Pippin into her umbrella and make away with him, as if he were one of Bilbo's silver spoons.

Bag End was still and quiet as the Withywindle in summer, but for a few soft snores here and there, from Bilbo's bedroom, and the guestrooms where various Tooks had been stowed. Frodo had no need for lamp or candle; he knew every twist and turn of Bag End like he knew his own face in the lookingglass. He crept out of the room and down the hall, whispering Merry's name. He peeked into Bilbo's room. Bilbo was sound asleep, bedclothes drawn up to his chin and his furry feet exposed, and he had a book tented open over his chest. The candle on his night-table had long ago melted down to wax and guttered out, and there was no sign of Merry there, so Frodo passed by. In the second-best guest bedroom, Pimpernel and Pearl were crammed together like a two puppies in the big bed. Nell had one of Pearl's long curls clenched tight in her fist. Frodo paused and scratched his head. He came to the door of the first guest bedroom, put his fingers against the door and gave it a gentle push. The first guest bedroom was one of the largest in the smial, with a great, round window, and there Frodo could see Merry. He was curled up asleep on the rug next to Pippin's baby-basket, with one arm inside, bent at an uncomfortable angle, his palm resting on Pippin's chest. Little Pippin was wide awake and sucking his fingers, and he smiled to see Frodo. "Fweet!" he said.

Frodo laughed silently. Bilbo tended to spoil all young visitors to Bag End with an endless supply of toffees and sweets from the depths of his waistcoat pockets, and Pippin had come to the conclusion that even nightshirts came equipped. "And hello to you, Pip. Couldn't sleep, either, I suppose?"

Eglantine stirred and sat up, throwing a leg over the side of the bed. Her copper-brown hair had escaped from her nightcap and lay in two long braids over her shoulders. "What's this all about? Is something wrong?"

"I'm sorry to wake you," Frodo said. "But I've just come to collect Merry. Looks as though he's done a little sleepwalking."

Eglantine looked down and saw that she had almost put her feet on Merry. "Ah, the poor lamb," she clucked sympathetically. "He's had a long and dreadful day."

Pervinca stirred next to her and made unhappy, sleepy noises. Eglantine patted her shoulder. "Sleep, Vinnie. All is well, all the sheep are in the fold. Go back to sleep, love." Pervinca sighed and settled again.

Frodo knelt down to lift Merry to his feet, but he tightened his grip on Pippin's baby-gown. "Pippin's lost," he said, with his eyes closed.

"He's right under your hand, pet," Eglantine said gently. "Not lost, safe and sound, wide awake and in need of a good feed and a clean nappy. Now why don't you let Frodo take you off to a nice, warm bed?"

Merry allowed himself to be lifted up into Frodo's arms, and he put his head on his shoulder. Frodo and Eglantine exchanged weary smiles, and then she bent over the basket. "There now, Mammy's little lad, let's just get you taken care of..."

> > > > > > >> > > > > > > > > > > > >

Frodo had carried Merry as far as the parlour when he started to squirm. It was easy for Frodo to forget that Merry considered himself a big lad now, and didn't care to be held so much, unless he was very sad, or very sick. Frodo let him slide down, and Merry stood swaying, still half-asleep, with his arm around Frodo's waist. Frodo led him to Bilbo's big armchair and boosted him up. "Here, my lad, get yourself off the floor. I'll just build up the fire a bit, then we can have some toast if you like. Are you hungry?"

Merry shook his head. Frodo sighed and busied himself with stirring the coals of the hearth to life. Once he had a good blaze going, he sat down in the chair beside Merry, pulled his legs across his lap and began to rub his feet. They could quite clearly hear Eglantine's footfalls, and the strong lilt of her voice as she walked to and fro, and they knew that she had nursed Pippin and was now singing him to sleep.

_Sleep, my baby, on my bosom,  
Warm and cosy, it will prove,  
Round thee mother's arms are folding,  
In her heart a mother's love..._

It was a familiar lullaby. It brought back to Frodo fading infant memories of his own mother, and he found himself humming along, and combing his fingers through Merry's brown hair.

_There shall no one come to harm thee,  
Naught shall ever break thy rest;  
Sleep, my darling babe, in quiet,  
Sleep on mother's gentle breast._

Except for the cheery crackle and snap of the fire, it was very quiet. By now Merry was sitting full on Frodo's knee, his back against his chest. "I'm not a baby," Merry mumbled.

Frodo smiled. He had thought that Merry was asleep. "No, you're not." In the short time that Frodo had been gone from Brandy Hall, Merry had left the soft roundness of babyhood behind. He felt all bones and angles, and his heels as he was sitting dangled nearly past Frodo's knees. "You've grown enormously! Before too long, you'll be so huge, they'll have to make a special door into Brandy Hall just for you, and it will take every seedcake in Buckland to fill you up for Tea."

Frodo expected him to laugh, but he turned on Frodo's lap and put his head on his shoulder. "I was bad today," he whispered.

Frodo put his hand under Merry's chin and lifted his face. Merry had been a great help all afternoon, he had helped in the search and thought of many places that Frodo might never have looked, and he had never cried that he was too hot or too tired to go on, even when the rest of them had felt close to giving up. "How?"

"I wanted Pippin to go away. He'sjust a baby and everyone was looking at him," Merry said, his lip curling just a little with unmistakeable hurt and jealousy. Frodo was reminded that for all that his legs had grown so long, Merry was still only a nine-year-old hobbit whose idol and best friend, Frodo, had left him. "I almost wished him away forever. I didn't mean it, I just wanted you to look at me and play with me, and have fun with just me today. I never meant to be so bad. I just missed you so."

Merry pressed his face against Frodo's nightshirt and cried a little, and Frodo put his arms around him and held him tight. "Merry, Merry, what happened with Pippin wasn't your fault. Now that our little Took is on his feet, he'll be in all sorts of scrapes-not as frightening as this one, I hope-and Eggie shall have to tether him to her apron to keep him out of trouble."

Merry swiped the sleeve of his nightshirt across his eyes. "I'm never going to let something like this happen ever again."

Frodo sighed. It was a hard lesson for a child to learn, that not all promises, however heartfelt and sincerely made, could be kept. "Now Merry, that's not practical, you know that. He's just a little babe, and for years and years yet he's sure to be off in the Tookland, and you'll be at Brandyhall. There will be many times when he will fall, or catch cold, or some such thing, and you won't be there to pick him up or brush away his tears. We can't always guard the ones we love from all harm, however much we might want to."

Merry became quiet, lost in thought. "Well, I can look after him when we're together, and I'll try not to fly mad even when he breaks my toys, and I'll make him laugh, and when he's with me I'll always let him have the biggest piece of seed cake, even if I want it for myself. Can I promise that?"

"Yes, you can promise that." Frodo smiled, and Merry smiled back, and Frodo was glad to see it. He patted Merry's knee. "Well, my lad, we've had a very important talk and I'm worn out. Would you like to go back to bed now?"

Merry yawned. "I'm not tired. Can we just sit like this for a while?"

"As long as you like." Frodo lifted his arm so Merry could scoot underneath and he rested his cheek on the top of Merry's head. In a moment or two he felt the low rumble of a little lad's snore. _Sleep, my darling cousin_, _in quiet_, he laughed to himself, and sat staring into the fire as it sank down to coals again.

Frodo sat there so long that his arm fell asleep, and then his legs, and then all the rest of him. He dreamed that he was an old hobbit with all the ones he loved gathered around him, and the great book across his knees was the story of his own life that he had written himself, full of laughter and good times and high adventure, and even some bad times and sadness, too, because all the best stories are like that. _Turn the page, tell us more, tell us what happened in the end, _the beloved voices laughed, so Frodo did, and Bell Gamgee found Frodo and Merry still in the chair and nestled together like hen-and-chick, when morning light was peeping in the windows.

The end

(...of this story, but more ficlets, drabbles and droubles to come.)

Yet another A/N: (Don't you hate these things?) If it seems like I screwed up on my foreshadowing and gave Frodo a dream of Sam's life, well, I didn't. I just thought Frodo deserved some happy foreshadowing for a change, even if it isn't quite true.


	13. A Dream of Peace

_Roads go ever ever on,  
Under cloud and under star.  
Yet feet that wandering have gone  
Turn at last to home afar.  
Eyes that fire and sword have seen,  
And horror in the halls of stone  
Look at last on meadows green,  
And trees and hills they long have known._

_-JRR Tolkien_

13. **A Dream of Peace**

Evening shadows were falling over Ithilien and the first stars were appearing, one by one, in a sky that had been grey with rain and clouds. The air was cool and the freshness of spring was in the air, as Gandalf walked with slow strides toward the tent which held the wounded. The last battle had been fought and won, and the darkness had passed away, but he still had counsels to keep and many things to do before he could go to his own rest, and the last task was most dear to his heart.

He leaned heavily on his staff and gave a nod to the night-guard at the entrance, a grizzled soldier sitting on a stool with both legs in splints up to his knees. He was whittling, and Gandalf could already see a glimpse of a familiar face peeking out of the chunk of wood, a very small Knight of the Citadel by the look of it. Gandalf laughed to himself. Pippin had been awake for all of two days and he had already worked his considerable Tookish charm on this poor fellow. The nameless man of Gondor paused to wince and flex his fingers, and he and Gandalf exchanged smiles filled with a similar weariness. Spring was a welcome thing, but the damp weather was painful for tired bones. Gandalf touched the old soldier's shoulder lightly as he passed and said a few words under his breath, a blessing and a wish for his rest and ease of his pain, and then he went inside.

The tent was dim, and quiet with the murmur of sleep and the low talk of those still going to and fro tending the most grievously injured. Pippin had a well-padded bed close to the entrance for the fresh air, and close by Merry was sleeping on his own cot. On a stool was a candle inside a little lantern made of pot-metal, shedding its small light over a tipsy stack of plates and cutlery. Merry was sprawled on his side, still dressed, with one arm dangling and one furry foot hanging off of the edge, as if he had sat down for a chat with Pippin and sleep had struck him like an anvil. Merry's helm and his shield had tumbled into the straw under the cot, but his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. A soldier must eat when he could, and sleep when he could, and yet still remain ready for the call, whether it came early or late. Gandalf felt a little ache under his heart: His hobbits had learned their lessons in soldiery perhaps too well.

Gandalf bent a little and began to unbuckle the sword belt. At his touch Merry's mouth pursed, and he frowned and tightened his grip. Gandalf gently took his hands away, folded them firmly on his breast and patted them. "My dear hobbit, you do not have to be quite so vigilant," he said quietly, and went back to his work. "Even the most valorous soldier will put aside his arms to sleep, and there is nothing for a hobbit to fear now, save perhaps indigestion."

"It's not his fault," Pippin's voice whispered behind him. "Eomer's had him on the hop all day. He was so tired he kept drinking from my cup, and he told me the same story three times, and then he fell out before I could tell him why I was laughing."

Gandalf choked back a laugh, before he could wake the poor souls in the tent who were actually asleep, and finished removing Merry's belt. He laid it on the ground next to the small helm and green shield of Rohan, and then put on a more sober face before turning to Pippin's cot. "And should you not also be sleeping, Peregrin Took?"

Pippin gave a martyred sigh. "Sleep! That's all anyone ever says to me: Not, 'Good morning' or 'Good evening' but 'Sleep, Pippin! Don't tire yourself, Pippin!' I'm full up with sleeping and not the least bit tired, and anyway, Merry said you were coming and I wanted to talk to you."

"Very well, very well, for a little while," Gandalf said, waving his hand. "But give an old man a chance to sit himself down before you wear him out with questions." He wanted the stool, so he removed the pile of dirty pans and cups and put them on the floor, then he lifted the little lantern to blow the candle out. They could converse just as well in the moonlight that was spilling in the open doorway.

"No, wait!" Pippin said sharply, with a touch of fright, then lowered his voice. "Please don't. I...I would like the light for a bit longer. Please."

"All right," Gandalf said gently. He kicked the straw aside and set the lantern on the green grass. "You may have the candlight as long as you wish, do stop trying to sit up." He was close enough to touch Pippin now, and he reached out and pressed him down, then tugged the blanket up to his chin. "And be still. "

"Yes, Gandalf, of course, Gandalf," Pippin said, the picture of innocent obedience, except for the cheeky twinkle in his eye.

Gandalf saw the look and sighed again, though the corners of his mouth twitched. He knew he must sound to Pippin like a hen fussing over her nest, though in this case his 'chicks' had been treading the narrow edge of disaster for so long that an old fowl could surely be forgiven his need to cluck.

He settled himself on the stool and laid his staff across his knees. "Now, what is it that you wished to say to me?" He supposed it was some question about Frodo and Sam, when they would wake or when he might see them, or perhaps Pippin merely wished to know what all Gandalf had seen and done in his travels about the camp that day. It was a hard thing for a young hobbit to lie abed day after day, hour after hour, with nothing much to do except wait for meals or visitors, or catalogue his aches and pains.

Pippin had seemed quite his old self up to this point in their conversation, laughing and full of mischief in spite of his bruises and bandages, but now he looked very solemn. "I need to ask you to do something for me, if you can. It's a foolish sort of problem, but each night I lay here, dreading the moment the candle goes out. I dread the dark because it reminds me of what happened. I can't stop thinking about it. It was so terribly heavy and foul under the troll, and when the light goes I feel it all over again, pressing down on me and I can't catch my breath, and it seems everything good is just a dream, and I will never feel anything else again. Could you...could you take away what I feel? Make me forget? I am ashamed, Gandalf. I am a soldier of Gondor now, not a faunt who should fear the dark. But I do."

Pippin's small hand, that had lifted a sword and struck down an enemy many times his size, trembled against the blanket, and yet he did not reach for comfort as he might have done before. Gandalf, filled with pity, put his own, larger hand over it to keep it still. "My dear Pippin, there is no shame in being afraid. Everyone is afraid of something."

"Even Aragorn?" Pippin's eyes widened. "Even you?"

"Yes indeed, Aragorn, too." Gandalf smiled. If the lad only knew. "Even me."

"But I don't want to be," Pippin said. "I've told everyone I don't remember anything, but the truth is I can't forget how it felt, and I need to. Can't you help me?"

Gandalf bowed his head. If only Pippin had asked for something simple, one of old Gandalf the Grey's conjuror's tricks, his name written in coloured smoke, or a sudden appearance of butterflies, it would have been easily done, but... "My dear boy," he said with a heavy heart. "The Powers gave me the gift to lift a weary spirit with my words and give it strength to fight, but it is not in my power to mend it when it is broken, and when the shadow falls I may only cast a little light, I cannot take the darkness away." He struggled to find the words. "My lad, everything that happens to us, whether for good or ill, brings us closer to what we are meant to be. The burdens that are given to us are given with a purpose, to help us grow, or make us stronger, or to give us wisdom. Do you understand?"

"Oh," Pippin said, sounding very small, and it hurt Gandalf to hear the unhappy surprise and disappointment in his tone. "I think I see. You mean remembering...what happened... is something uncomfortable but good for me, like taking some sort of nasty medicine. Well. Well, I don't think I shall enjoy having to swallow a big dose of it every night, but a hobbit can get used to anything, I suppose-"

Gandalf made an exasperated sound and held Pippin's chin so he couldn't look away, but his voice was kind. "Now, now, I did not say I could do _nothing_. Let me think." He sat back and stroked his beard, and wished for the pipe he could not smoke in a canvas tent with straw underfoot, full of the sick and wounded. "All right," he said at last. "I think I have the answer, though I must warn you, this is an imperfect solution, at best. In the future you may find yourself suddenly falling into sleep at the drop of a hat, as they say in the Shire. How do you feel about that?"

"Anything is better than this dread coming on me night after night, facing down that wretched troll all over again every time my eyes close." Pippin said, and swallowed hard. "Whatever you need to do, I'm ready."

If he was expecting a torrent of Elvish or a clap of thunder, he was disappointed, for Gandalf merely lifted the lantern. "Look here, then. Look at the flame and think of a happy time, not the most exciting time for that would grow wearisome, but perhaps a fine meal with good friends, or a day in the sun."

Pippin smiled. "Then I'll think of Frodo's last birthday party. I stayed up all night and danced with all the lasses, though there was a pretty little thing from up in the Northfarthing that took a dislike to me and poured punch in my lap, Ruby or Onyx or some such name. And you weren't there so there weren't any fireworks, and I was sorry for that. But the food and drink was very good, and the music, and Frodo was there, and Sam, and Merry and good old Fatty, and my family, and it seemed all of Hobbiton was singing..."

"Good, very good," Gandalf whispered. He put his free hand on Pippin's tangle of brown curls. "Remember that, my lad, when night falls, when the memory of battle and fear is a trouble to your heart, this dream of peace and safety will come and chase the shadows away. Sleep, and remember."

Pippin's eyes closed. Somewhere far behind him the battle raged amid the crash of sword and shield and dying cries of Men and beasts, but ahead the Party Tree was ablaze with coloured lanterns, and fiddles were squealing and a drum was beating out the tune. He paused, staring about him in wonder. There was Frodo, laughing with Merry as they tapped another keg, and there was Freddy, settled in a wicker lawn chair, his feet on a bench and a full plate in his lap. Nearby Rose Cotton was trying to tempt a red-faced Sam into the dance, and oh, look! There was Gandalf with his pipe, and as Pippin's astonished gaze fell on him, he gave a wink. Pippin laughed out loud in amazement, and then his feet were stamping on the green grass and a sweet, dark-haired lass was at each elbow, and neither one of them seemed inclined to douse him with punch. The last shadows fled away, and all at once fireworks were bursting over Hobbiton Hill, green and gold and red, and the white sparks fell into the Water like shooting stars.

"Gandalf!" Pippin's mouth quirked with delight. "And fireworks, too, after all!" he murmured, "How wonderful!"

Gandalf chuckled quietly and blew the candle out. Behind him Merry snored lightly, and before him Pippin was smiling in his sleep. He hummed a bit of the familiar old dance tune to himself. Gandalf the Grey was gone and soon Gandalf the White, his labours finished, would have to leave for a far shore, but it was a comfort to know that part of him would abide for good in his beloved Shire with the folk he loved best, at least in the dreams of one small, war-weary hobbit.

the end

AN: Gentle readers and kind reviewers, I believe we've reached the end of another collection of LotR fanfiction here. I don't know if it's in the cards for me to ever make another, but never say never. If you've read all these drabbles and droubles and snippets, thank you for walking all this way with me, and I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing:o)


End file.
